


Moving On is Hard. It's hard and no one understands.

by classpect



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Freeform, Happy Ending, M/M, Messy Breakup, Oneshot, Sadstuck, Substance Abuse, Swearing, dave being a douchepickle, john flipping his shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-17 21:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2323427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/classpect/pseuds/classpect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>3.54 a.m. and your mouth tastes like chocolate and regrets and there is something he isn’t telling you.</p><p>3.59 a.m. and your pride slips down your throat like the tears on your cheeks.</p><p>4 a.m. and the red text on your screen isn’t as jarring as the blue of your “yeah dude, i totally get it, it's cool!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [It's 3:54 AM, your mouth tastes like chocolate and regret, and there's something he's not telling you.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1389583) by [ectobiologust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ectobiologust/pseuds/ectobiologust). 



3.54 a.m. and your mouth tastes like chocolate and regrets and there is something he isn’t telling you. 

3.59 a.m. and your pride slips down your throat like the tears on your cheeks.

4 a.m. and the red text on your screen isn’t as jarring as the blue of your “yeah dude, i totally get it, it's cool!” 

4.02 a.m. one year, three other breakups and several boxes of chocolate later and you’re still toasting to him, continually imbibing, your throat raw with (your pride) the reminiscent sting of alcohol. He blocked you that day and you are sure that the greyed-out text on your chumroll you can't bear to delete is mocking you.

You don’t think you can keep this up any more- 

And that's when you hear the doorbell ring and he's standing there, with the expression he's not wearing worse than the fresh cut on his face. 

You’re sure your heart stops. 

“Car crashed a mile away from here. I had nowhere to go after the hospital.” He says, deadpan. You’re sober enough to not ask too many questions and end up just letting him in. There’s a fresh cut, just been stitched up, two inches down the left side of his face. It’s when he sits down on your couch per your invitation you realize that this is the first time you’ve seen him outside the practically physical confines of your Skype window. You’re just glad you thought to clear the bottles on your coffee table. 

“So. How are you doing?” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. 

“I’m a director now. Based in Seattle. Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff is gonna be a movie series. Was at a colleague’s party a couple of towns down and was on my way home when this drunk idiot crashed into me,” he says, and you feel guilt prick your inebriated subconscious.

“Windscreen shattered like every teenage girl’s dreams of her favorite pop star when the paparazzi announces that they’re in rehab for drug abuse or some other fucked up shit. Got this nasty cut and the medics that showed up carted me off to the hospital for a checkup and stitches. Not like I ain’t okay though. I’ve been through worse,” He shrugs and you know that nothing much has changed. He's the same person he is on the Internet. You nod, face not betraying the turmoil stirring up inside you. You idly wonder why you aren’t feeling angry, or maybe you’re just too tired and drunk to give a shit. Yeah, that’s probably it. 

“My ride was wrecked and towed and I had nowhere to go when I remembered you lived nearby, and here I am. Sorry for imposing on you, I probably just woke you up, I know how much you value your beauty sleep.” He says, trying to joke. You don’t laugh and you swear the silence is so thick it’s actually killing you faster than your chronic heartbreak. 

“Nah, I was awake.” you reply. He doesn’t ask why. “I’ll just lead you to the guest room and you can just call a cab tomorrow morning or something.” you say. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” 

Once he’s inside you walk back to your room and gingerly shut the door. Of all days to show up at your door, he chooses today. Of course you memorized the date. Your back hits the wall and you sink to your knees, trying not to start sobbing (again). He’s gotten on fine without you, on his way to becoming a famous director. Meanwhile all you’ve done is cried over him and progressed somewhat with your medical degree. It hurts you to know that you are very easily replaceable. Expendable, even. He probably forgot all about you with his new Hollywood actor friends or something. 

_Dave probably has a new best bro now,_ you think miserably.

Dave Strider was your first love. Is your first love. You were best Internet bros, communicating through a relatively unknown chat client called Pesterchum. When you both turned 18 last year he came out to you and told you he loved you and despite your 7th grade proclamations of “not [being] a homosexual”, you found yourself in the same place.

It lasted for eight months and you swear you’d never been happier. Then he began to grow distant, forgetting to call every now and then, and you never resented him for it, because you knew he could be forgetful. It was only after you decided to confront him about it did he actually tell you he needed space. What could you do but accept? Throw a bitch fit? Nah, that would only make things messier. In retrospect you feel like you were naïve to think that he would even want to simply remain friends, because that day he blocked you on Pesterchum.

After several weeks of dwelling on it (during which you cried more than you would like to admit), you think he got bored, you think he maybe began to take you for granted, realized that you were expendable, and then began resenting your relationship.

The day you came to that conclusion was the day you decided you hated yourself, hated that you hadn’t been able to keep the person you loved, that you’d bored him. You blamed yourself, which was kind of incredibly unhealthy, but then again so was the frequency at which you started drowning your sorrows in Dutch courage.

That’s right John, drink your troubles away. You wished you’d talked to him about it sooner.

You end up staying there until the sunlight is streaming through your windows. You force yourself up, a painful crick in your back and your neck but that pain is different and incomparable to the anger directed at the man you are (still) in love with.

You don’t think he’s up yet. Dave is a heavy sleeper. It’s strange how you know that without ever having spent a night with him. You look in the mirror, and wonder if the dark circles under your eyes will ever go away.

It’s when you’re mechanically making pancakes does he stumble out of the guest room, rubbing at his eyes.

“Morning,” he greets. “Morning,” you reply sharply, and set the stack of pancakes down in front of him at the table where he's seated and texting, using all your willpower to not slam it onto the table.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he replies, looking up from his phone. “I did it anyway, now eat,” you grit out, taking a seat. He’s taken aback by your ferocity and he damn well should be.

“One year, Dave. It’s been a whole bloody year since you so much as talked to me.” Your lower lip trembles. He stays silent and doesn’t meet your eyes.

“I’d been your best friend for 8 years!” you shout. He flinches and you can’t bring yourself to care. “Don’t I mean anything to you anymore? Look, I know we didn’t work out cause you needed your bullshit space or whatever, but in case you haven’t noticed, there’s been nothing BUT space between us ever SINCE! I was such an IDIOT to think that you would have still wanted to even be friends.” you scoff, and swipe at your eyes behind your glasses, trying to staunch the flow of angry tears.

“You’d just, just _discarded_ me, Dave, like the majority of the past decade that I'd invested in this, in us, was all for nothing! I was just another stranger on the Internet, my existence virtual and very obviously not worth your time.” You seethe, a year’s worth of angst pouring out of you like a tap left on at full blast in a desolate public bathroom that no one wants to clean by some inconsiderate asshole. He shrinks away from you and oh, there’s that self-loathing again. You steel yourself and continue, not bothering to try and stop the way your shoulders are shaking.

“And normally, I wouldn’t give a shit. I’d get over it, and soon become the bottomless well of happy thoughts that you think I am. I thought that would be the case at 4 a.m. yesterday one year ago. But I haven’t been able to do that. I’ve been in three relationships ever since and none of them are comparable to what I had with you, even though we never even MET!” You yell. His brows are drawn together but he’s still wearing that stupid poker face and you don’t know whether you want to punch it or kiss it off him.

“So I’ve come to this conclusion, Dave. I HATE YOU! I hate you for what you put me through, what you are putting me through and what you will put me through, because unfortunately, I LOVE YOU, and I care about you, and it is RUINING MY LIFE! So I would really appreciate it, if you ate your goddamn pancakes, and got out of my home and on your merry fucking way, and stayed THE FUCK OUT OF MY LIFE!” You finish, and storm out of the living room like a (the) petulant teenager (you are), not even giving him a chance (to reply).

You hear the screech of his chair on your parquet floor and the sound of your front door shutting, and you’re left alone sobbing on the floor with your back to that wall again.

Moving on is hard. It’s hard and no one understands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!! This is my first fic, inspired by ectobiologust's work of the same first line!!
> 
> anyways you can hit me up at classpect.tumblr.com!! criticism would be appreciated (ha h i know i am not that great at writing angst)


	2. Chapter 2 Alternatively titled The Three Times Dave Strider Showed Up At John Egbert’s House Under The Pretense Of Reconciliation And The One Time He Actually Succeeded.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3.54 a.m. and your mouth tastes like the Chinese takeout you had for dinner and anticipation and there’s something you’re not telling him. 
> 
> 3.56 a.m. and the knot in your stomach hasn’t eased one bit like you thought it would. 
> 
> 4 a.m. and you know he’s crying, and you feel worse. Something about this feels wrong.

3.54 a.m. and your mouth tastes like the Chinese takeout you had for dinner and anticipation and there’s something you’re not telling him.

3.56 a.m. and the knot in your stomach hasn’t eased one bit like you thought it would.

4 a.m. and you know he’s crying, and you feel worse. Something about this feels wrong.

TT: Dave.

TG: what

TT: What the fuck did you do to John?

TG: i broke up with him a week ago nbd

TT: You what?

TT: Why on Earth would you do such a stupid thing!

TT: Oh wait, this is you we’re talking about.

TT: I’m sorry.

TG: stfu lalonde i dont need your crap right now

TG: me and egbert are a thing of the past

TG: so quit smearing your inch thick ivory white foundation and snarky broad horseshit all over my business

TG: its terrible and making a huge mess

TG: the skies are red and children are screaming

TG: only my intense awesomeness and i can save them from this mess you’ve created

TG: its all your fault lalonde

TT: Dave, you do realize he was in love with you, right?

TG: no he wasnt

TT: Yes, he was.

TG: no he wasnt

TT: Dave, he used to stay up until 3 a.m. just so he could keep talking to you!

TG: that means nothing

TT: He pined over you for well over a year.

TG: so did i and look where we are now

TT: You are impossible.

TT: Now, I normally don’t disclose my Pesterlogs, but drastic times call for drastic measures, and idiots like you call for worse.

TT: Calling our old friend copy-paste up to the stand.

TT: EB: hey rose!

TT: Hello, John.

EB: um, so, i don’t know if dave told you yet, but, he broke up with me.

TT: …

TT: He what?

EB: yeah. i don’t even know why, and i thought things were going great but then he sort of starting drifting away!

EB: i honestly thought he was just busy with school or something, so i didn’t really bother him much.

EB: then one day i saw him online really and i thought id ask him what was going on…

EB: and he said he ‘needed space’ or something.

TT: Correct me if I’m wrong but don’t you two live two thousand miles apart?

EB: i thought that too, rose!

EB: is there any reason that he isn’t telling me about?

EB: i know you’re closer to him and all, so maybe he might have told you something he didn’t tell me.

EB: which is totally cool!

EB: it’s just that, well.

EB: i kind of want um, an explanation?

EB: …cause well. i don’t want to lose anyone like i lost him.

EB: rose?

TT: Apologies, John. I’m afraid I don’t know anything as to why my brother broke up with you.

TT: Either way, I’m glad that you’re moving on healthily.

EB: actually, that’s not really very true.

EB: i sort of spent the last 3 days curled up in bed crying.

EB: ugh, rose, i’m sorry.

EB: i think i love him. like, in the ‘i would mind not spending the rest of my life with him,’ kind of way!

EB: i’m kind of scared, and i miss him and want to get back together.

EB: don’t tell him i said that though.

TT: Don’t worry John. Your secret is safe with me.

TT: Only now it isn’t safe anymore, because I’ve just divulged it to you. 

TG: that means nothing

TT: He said he loved you.

TG: correction

TG: he said he thought he loved me

TG: which means that he aint sure and so his answer can change with the fucking wind

TG: probably will too

TG: and probably would have if id stayed on

TT: Do you always let even hypothetics get in the way of happiness?

TG: no

TG: yes

TG: maybe so what

TG: bottom line is i was in way too deep and i knew he was gonna fuck off eventually to meet some pretty chick live the american dream and have two point five children with her

TG: and hes too much of a nice guy to forget me his awesome best bro so they’ll be named dave davina and little baby d all after me

TG: and ill be the awesome uncle who takes them out for sundaes and teaches them how to hotwire a car

TG: but ill be dying on the inside probably because ill wish those were mine and johns kids

TG: and ill wish that i was married to john

TG: but i wont be cause john woulda fucked off ages ago

TG: and im like ninety percent sure I probably wont find anyone like him

TG: case closed end of story time to leave before i get hurt too bad

TT: You mean yes, then.

TT: Are you telling me you broke up with John, the boy you’ve been pining for, for well over a year, over a decision that you think he will make?

TT: A decision he’s shown only hypothetical indication of making?

TT: Mostly hypothesized by your overthinking?

TG: yeah pretty much

TT: You’re an idiot.

TG: i know

4.02 a.m. six months later and you think you might finally have another shot at this thing, because from your perspective, you realized a little too late that you, Dave Strider, have done fucked up.

That is partly also why you’re currently sitting in a lonely Seattle airport waiting for a cab. John is still, unfortunately, the grand pimp macdaddy of pranks, japery and your heart. Yes. That’s (still) a thing.

After the whole breakup thing, which ended more messily that you would have wanted it to, you found yourself trying to distance yourself from John. Why continue torturing yourself with what you could never have? So of you blocked him on Pesterchum. Rose called you an idiot. You think you finally understand what that one dude said when he said that absence makes the heart grow fonder.

You want to punch him in the face because he was totally right but you’re Dave Motherfucking Strider and you are too cool for that shit.

You wonder how John is dealing with things. Jade and Rose reported him asking about you a lot, but eventually he stopped contacting them for some reason. Either way you try not to think about him and his squeaky cute Washington accent, his perpetually messy hair, his stupid infectious smile. (That’s a lie you think about him all the time because you messed UP everything you had with him.)

He’s probably over you by now too, and working on his medical degree, on his way to becoming a biomedical researcher like nothing even happened. You don’t know whether to be comforted or hurt by that fact.  You choose to go with comforted, because you were right in the end anyway. (Of course that was a consequence of your actions you are so CONFUSED)

So you basically just got on with your life, talking to Jade and Rose every now and then. You focused your energy on your work, pulling out like what two albums in the time it takes to make half. Rose said that it was because you were suffering from heartbreak. You said that she needed to shut the fuck up. Jade patted you some and then described her adventures on Hellmurder Island. You pretended to be interested and sometimes jammed out with her.

Time did what it did best, and passed.

Somewhere like three months along the line, your old shitty webcomic went viral. The site was getting close to one million unique visitors every day, and though traffic had slowed to about a thousand every 24 hours, the site tended to crash every time you updated. Which was interesting for the most part. You got a bunch of publicity for it too, which was kind of great, and you acquired some Hollywood contacts, which was also great.

Aforementioned contacts (and totally not your ex-boyfriend) and had also inspired you to start imbibing on a certain April evening. You proceeded to churn out 3 spectacularly terrible scripts of approximately 90 minutes each, and sent them in. You still are not very clear about what exactly went down that night.

Long story short, they got picked up. People were calling it the ‘darling of the critics’ providing ‘unique perspectives’ to ‘mainstream media’ and that you were a genius for ‘capitalizing on the inherent irony in social norms’.

Bitches ain’t shit.

 Either way you got a sweet 500 grand bonus plus two percent of box office sales, which was pretty much incredible. More was promised for every subsequent movie, which had you excited, for once. They wanted you on location every two weeks, and you were cool with moving closer to filming on their suggestion, because it was much more convenient and most of the filming was gonna be done in one place anyway. That was until before you heard where you were moving.

And so here you are in Seattle, Washington, waiting for a cab to pick you up and take you to your new, already-set-up apartment, thirty minutes away from where John lives.

He doesn’t know a thing.

TT: So you’re moving to Washington.

TG: yeah

TT: Seattle.

TG: yup

TT: Less than an hour away from John.

TG: indeed are we done with the twenty questions yet i have an apartment to pack

TT: You’re being defensive again.

TG: thanks for that astute observation fraud junior

TT: Are you going to attempt to reconcile with him?

TG: maybe whats it to you

TT: Nothing. It’s just that he’s got a girlfriend now.

TG: …

TG: oh

TT: Yes, ‘oh’.

TT: What are you going to do about it?

TG: abandon all hope and never speak to him again as of now its going swimmingly

TT: Are you in pieces again?

TG: yeah.

TT: I’ll tell you when they break up.

A taxi arrived, eventually. You got on, eventually. And when the time finally came, you eventually found yourself in front of John Egbert’s door, poised to knock. You could hear sounds of raucous laughter and the uneven clip-clop of an inebriated someone’s heels on hardwood floor, and you knew that he was with someone. What you heard next made your blood run hot and cold at the same time.

There was a thump, and then a _moan_.

So like any rational person would do when meeting looking to reconcile with their ex (god do you hate that word you hate it so much) only to find their ex getting some, you spun on your foot and ran the fuck away back to your car and drove far, far away, tears impeding your vision. You wanted to forget everything, to forget John, to forget what you had, to forget that vile noise and just, stop.

What you didn’t know was that John’s sweetheart had literally just flopped to the floor and puked all over his carpet. John was totally okay with it the next day being the sweetheart he is, but she never came by ever again. Then again, it’s not like that would have been an opportune time to reconcile with your ex either. Gross, definitely, but romantic, not quite.

The next time you showed up at John Egbert’s house on a certain February day, you were prepared. You’d brought him really pretty violets and a card that read, _Be mine, Valentine_. It was covered in glitter and cherubs with rosy butt cheeks. Super ironic. You’d put a really nice message in it too. You got this. You were going to woo the boy of your dreams!

But.

What if he didn’t like you back?

What if he had moved on? The chick he was with that day certainly said something about Egbert’s current state of affairs, literally.

You felt your heart start palpitating and your mouth go dry like this was some sort of slapstick 9th grade English paper on winning a race or something equally juvenile.

How ironic.

You feebly rang the doorbell.

When John opened it, all he saw was a bouquet of lovely violets on his doorstep, and shreds of pink glitter-covered paper. He took them inside and put them in a nice vase, wondering who’d left them. He didn’t let himself believe that it had been you.

You’d driven off by then.

TG: rose

TG: help

TT: Oh dear.

TT: Does this have anything to do with pursuits of Egbertkind?

TG: i

TG: yeah

TT: Dave.

TG: lalonde this is serious.

TT: Of course.

TT: I should have known, given the date.

TG: yeah its valentines day ok

TG: i sorta wanted to sweep him off his feet

TG: lost all my resolve at the last second and ended up leaving the fucking violets on his doorstep

TG: i was so close

TG: so close

TT: I’m surprised that you actually went that far.

TT: Would it be correct to assume that you are as smitten by this boy as you were a year ago?

TG: yeah

TT: Then what’s stopping you?

TG: what if he doesnt like me anymore

TG: what if he dont love me like i love him

TG: what if he hates me for what i did to him

TG: fuck he cried over me for days

TT: While I hate to impose any judgment, I would like you to consider whose fault that was.

TT: My point is, if you want to reconcile you’re going to have to make amends yourself. Take a chance, Dave.

TG: and then what

TT: If he takes you back, he takes you back. If he doesn’t, then you move on.

TT: I spelled it out in black and white for you, Dave.

TG: uh

TT: Time’s a ticking, brother mine.

TT: You of all people should know that best.

You didn’t go and see John after that.

That was until the exact one-year anniversary of your breakup. Of course you’d memorized the date. And of course you’d tried to forget about it by going to a party you didn’t even want to be at. You kept trying to booze up but you really couldn’t make yourself drink anything. Every time you’d look at the red Dixie cup it would just stare back at you and make you feel horrible about yourself. 

At 2.06am, you finally just gave up and left, completely in control of your mental faculties. 

It was when you were driving on a deserted highway that you got into the collision. The idiot in front of you braked while going at 75 miles an hour. You were a little aways from him, so you had a bit of warning, but you hit him anyway and your ride was wrecked, pretty much. Windscreen shattered like very teenage girl’s dreams of becoming her pop idol when they get carted off to rehab for drugs and shit. Red and blue lights followed, the guy who was in front of you was arrested, and apparently he was drunk.

You on the other hand got carted to a hospital where the nurse on duty asked for your autograph as she stitched up your face with nothing but local anesthesia. You sighed and obliged because why the hell would you want to deny a nurse an autograph at like 3am.

Basic fucking courtesy she stitched up your face at 3am.

After the hospital, you get a call that your ride has been towed and sent to a mechanic, and that if you can get a place to stay tonight, your PA will send someone to pick you up. The nearest hotel is ten miles away.

The nearest person you can call on at this ridiculous hour is a ten minutes of walking away.

You have no choice, which is why you’re ringing the doorbell to John Egbert’s house. What you didn’t expect however was him actually fucking opening the door like he’d been expecting it. He’d got raccoon circles under his eyes and it looked like he’d been crying and you just wanted to take him in your arms and tell him you were sorry but you hadn’t spoken with him in a year so you just stood there, drinking him in, his pale skin, his lanky build, his messy black hair, barely bucktoothed overbite, and his tired, tired blue eyes.

And because you are one hell of a superficial motherfucker, the first thing you registered was how incredible he looked.

Fuck he grew up great.

You could smell the booze on him, and you sincerely hoped that you weren't the reason he was imbibing. He sat you down on his couch and offered you something to drink, and a few terse moments passed as the both of you were ensconced in self-manufactured silence. You gave him a quick rundown of your circumstance and were grateful he didn't ask that many questions. He led you to his guest room which you gratefully accepted.

What you weren't expecting was for the walls to be as thin as they were. Because you heard him when he hit the floor and started crying the way he did. You heard everything.

And if you didn't hate yourself completely before, you sure did now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *SCREAMING NOISES* 
> 
> I am a terrible person and I am so, so sorry. This is a month late and I am a piece of trash. It's just I had a lot of stuff piling onto me at once and I couldn't write it all down!!!!! I have had a lot of time to ruminate so there's a lot more content than I had initially planned. In addition, I wasn't planning to be this flowery, but I am but a vessel for this literary prowess. I sincerely hope you have not creamed your pants. (just kidding) My point is there is like a whole chapter more, and it's going to be split between both points of view! 
> 
> Also, wow, there's a lot more, and Rose is here, and wow I have to finish this now. I'll finish it before the end of the year, I swear. I have my own personal cheerleader who's sending me worlds of encouragement and advice (shoutout to MeeshMess for being my beta and also a great person in general <3) aaaand. Pesterlogs. Yes. 
> 
> Once again, questions and criticisms are appreciated! This is my first fic I don't know what I'm doing.


	3. Chapter 3

Somehow, somewhere, sometime along the line, you fell asleep to the sound of (your ex’s) sobs. You are a heartless bastard, it is you. Your eyes finally open when you smell pancakes, because fuck yeah, pancakes. Then you remember who is making the pancakes and feel horrible again. Nevertheless, you trundle out of the room groggily, rubbing at your eyes behind your shades. You forgot to take them off last night, and now there are marks all over your face, so you look like a major tool.

The perfect look for you, really.

John is flipping pancakes and staring at the skillet like he wants to glare it into submission, but mostly he just looks tired. Tiredness. You feel like that’s becoming a constant.

You don’t think he slept at all last night, and damn if you don’t want to wrap your arms around him from the back, help ease that tension in his shoulders. However you think he would sooner glare you into submission than let you do that, so you just awkwardly mumble a “Morning,” then seat yourself at the table.

Judging by the amount of batter left in his bowl, he’s almost done. You pull out your phone and start texting your PA Terezi, explaining what the fuck happened to you and asking whether you could get a ride home or something, because you were most definitely not welcome here.

You’re extracted forcibly from your reverie when John practically slams a plate of pancakes in front of you. He looks like he might just rip you to shreds. You are scared and a little bit turned on, and a lot resigned because this thing was a long time coming. You keep up your chill façade nonetheless. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” you replied coolly, looking up from your phone. “I did it anyway, now eat,” he grit out. 

You were a little surprised, because you’d never seen John this angry. You know he had every right to be. This was like the first storm after an immeasurably long drought, a dam about to give way.

“One year, Dave. It’s been a whole bloody year since you so much as talked to me.” He said.

That was true. You had even gone so far as to delete his number form your phone. Of course, you had it memorized, but the time it took you to dial it in was often enough time to make you reconsider. It had been hard. It had been so fucking hard, and he had no idea. You want to interject, but you don’t and look at him mutely.

You look back up at him and oh holy shit he’s about to fucking start crying. You can see a year's worth of raw anger and sadness and resentment in those blue, blue eyes, rimmed with red that's nothing but your fault.

“ _I’d been your best friend for 8 years!_ Don’t I  _mean_  anything to you anymore? Look, I know we didn’t work out cause you needed your bullshit space or whatever, but in case you haven’t noticed, there’s been nothing BUT space between us ever SINCE! I was such an IDIOT to think that you would have still wanted to even be friends.”

 _No_ , you think. That’s not it. That was hardly it. You had been scared, terrified that he meant more to you than you did to him, and you foolishly couldn’t, no, didn't, trust him. You’re Dave Motherfucking Strider, you’re supposed to hold your own, and you’ve never been able to trust anyone, because when you do you always get hurt. You wonder just how long he’s been crying.

“You’d just, just  _discarded_  me, Dave, like the majority of the past decade that I'd invested in this, in us, was all for nothing! I was just another stranger on the Internet, my existence virtual and very obviously not worth your time.

He was crying now, and you didn’t have the nerve to look him in the eye with your own watering ones, and kept your eyes trained firmly on the pancakes, tears hidden behind dark shades. John meant the world to you. John means the world to you.

“And normally, _I_ wouldn’t give a shit. I’d get over it, and soon become the bottomless well of happy thoughts that you think I am. I thought that would be the case at 4 a.m. yesterday one year ago. But I haven’t been able to do that. I’ve been in three relationships ever since and none of them are comparable to what I had with you, even though we never even MET!

You meant the world to John.

“So I’ve come to this conclusion, Dave. I HATE YOU! I hate you for what you put me through, what you are putting me through and what you will put me through, because unfortunately, I LOVE YOU, and I care about you, and it is RUINING MY LIFE! So I would really appreciate it, if you ate your goddamn pancakes, and got out of my home and on your merry fucking way, and stayed THE FUCK OUT OF MY LIFE!”

He stormed out of the room soon after, and you heard his door slam.

You took off your shades and stared at your phone, throat closing up, until the wor(l)ds began to blur behind your tears.

Coming here was a bad idea. You stood up abruptly, and exited John Egbert’s house. Your ride was here and ready to cart you off into your world of false securities, anyway.

At least, you thought it would, until you saw your Pesterchum blink a familiar, friendly green.

GG: hey dave!!!

You figure you should humor her, and step in your car.

TG: sup harley

GG: what no ‘how goes hellmurder island’ or keep that ‘yiffy white hellbeast’ away from me?

GG: is something the matter dave??

TG: how are you so scarily intuitive

TG: yeah i guess things could be better

GG: what happened?? :O

TG: nothing

GG: dave, thats not true!

TG: you got me

TG: i am actually incredibly upset

TG: my maiden heart is traumatized by issues of the egbertkind

TG: forgive my impudence and all that bullshit

GG: john? didnt you guys break up like a year ago??

GG: speaking of him i havent really heard from him in a while!!

GG: how is he doing??

GG: should i call him up?? :O

TG: yeah we broke up a year ago

TG: no hes not okay

TG: i dont think hes answering any phone calls anytime soon

GG: why not?? what are you so upset about??

TG: last night this drunk driver banged up my sweet ride

TG: nearest place to crash was johns

TG: cause i live in seattle now right

TG: took me in and gave me a place to sleep

TG: long story short i still love him

TG: apparently so did he but idk anymore

TG: so i just sorta left him there after he ripped me a new one this morning

TG: made me pancakes and everything fuck why is he so

GG: so?

TG: i dunno.

GG: well if you liked him so much then why did you leave him??

GG: and if youre not sure if he still likes you or not then why dont you go ask??

GG: honestly dave you make mountains out of molehills!!!

TG: its really complicated basically i have trust issues and all that lalondian bullshit

TG: i dumped him because i thought i loved him more than he loved me and dont you dare tell me thats not dangerous

TG: obviously i was an idiot

TG: i know that you know that rose and john knows that

TG: everyone knows that

TG: hell even dr fucking phil knows that

TG: and i dont even get a hey dave we hope you feel better someday maybe

TG: just an oh man sucks to be you isnt love tragic

TG: and i cant just go back the guy flat out told me he hated me

GG: well youll never know if you dont try!!!

GG: dave i have some advice for you!!!!!

TG: lay it on me sis

GG: kiss

GG: him

TG: jade no

GG: right

GG: on

TG: jade why

GG: the

GG: MOUTH!!!!

TG: goodbye harley

GG: im serious here coolkid!!!!

GG: just once

GG: he deserves to know how you really feel!!!!

GG: report back to me after okay???

You sigh and slip your phone in your pocket. Your chauffer looks at you through the rearview mirror. You feel like scowling at him, but instead divert your gaze to the rows and rows of suburban houses rolling past. The sky is overcast and you bitterly consider the irony in how apt it all is. Rainy days and hearts broken one too many times. One and the same.

What an opportune time to do some serious thinking.

But what is there to consider?

Do you still love John?

Yes, yes you do. You love him very much. He’s someone you can think out loud around, someone who (though you hate to admit it) can look past the bullshit coolkid façade you’ve trapped yourself in and turn you into a bumbling mess of bad raps and awkwardness. He’s deconstructed you. You love him because he bothered, no, cared about you. He saw you as the person you really were rather than the false front you’d put up, and he’d fallen for you.

Rose has a way of getting under your skin, poking, prodding, exposing you. Jade saw right through you. But John? He simply held his hand out, and you always took it.

It started to drizzle.

Why did you break up with him if you loved him so much?

Well, given your _histories,_ if you will, John’s been pretty straight and according to Rose, you have trust issues and don’t like talking about them. You were so scared that he would break up with you, leave you for another girl, and you didn’t want to get your heart broken, so you broke his. What you didn’t realize was that you’d break yours in the process. It seems alarmingly counterintuitive in retrospect.

Love is such a funny, painful thing. You wonder why you bothered.

What now, then?

TG: i will

GG: good luck!!!

You ordered the cab driver to make a one eighty and drive you back, making some bullshit excuse about leaving something there. The rain was coming down pretty hard by now, and you spent a long time standing at his doorstep, not caring you were getting soaked before you rang the doorbell. No answer.

You tried the door and it was unlocked, so you just walked in, feeling kind of bad that you were dripping all over his carpet. You walked up to his room and knocked on it.

Here goes nothing.

 ~0~

You sit there, wallowing in your own misery like the sad, hateful lump you are, when you hear the doorbell. You don’t bother answering, whomever the fuck it is can just hold their damn horses. The door opens and you hear the soft padding of footsteps, and you know he’s here again. Dread consumed your very soul. Okay, not really, but you were still pretty upset!

You already know that he’s, that he probably stepped out and then told whoever was waiting outside your door to hold on for a bit before taking him back to his perfect Egbert-less existence. Why won’t he leave you ALONE? If he wanted you back, if he even wanted to stay bros with you he would have said something, _anything_ over the past year.

But he didn’t. His text had stayed greyed out, and you don’t know how many times you wanted to send him an unblock request with an attached message that read, “i miss you.”

And miss him you did. Your heart ached for him. That night after he broke up with you didn’t get out of your room for a week, wishing desperately that he would take you back, say he made a mistake. You’d be a little annoyed but you’d forgive him, because you _loved_ Dave. Your cousin Jade actually had to take a break from her adventuring to drag you out of bed and force some food in you, because you probably would have gotten yourself landed in the hospital. Over Dave. You wondered if this meant you’d die for him. At that time, the answer was yes.

You know it hasn’t changed, and your extremism is honestly scaring you. It’s unhealthy to be attached to someone so deeply, Rose would chide. She tried her best to help you along but she was after all Dave’s sister. Every time you talked to Rose or Jade you found yourself not focusing on your conversation with them but rather on how Dave was doing, because you couldn’t ask him yourself. And while they never said anything about it, guilt started eating at you and you basically stopped logging onto Pesterchum. (because those conversations became a way to check on Dave than talk to Rose and Jade.)

And so from then on, you just focused on your studying. You didn’t have any close friends in college, which was another dumb mistake on your part, being too invested in what you had with your Internet friends to make any real friends, choosing to simply exchange meaningless smiles and hellos with (more-or-less) acquaintances (strangers) on campus.  

You feel like you’re being victimized by your own feelings. (This is not fair.)

You ended up making the Dean’s list, and for once your Dad actually took you out to celebrate instead of presenting you with a customary baked confection. He knew in his own Dadly way about you and Dave. Of course, when you officially came out to him he hugged you and expressed his unwavering pride by beaning you with several rainbow cupcakes. Good old Dad.

The footsteps stop short of the door, and he knocks on it once, twice. You’ve sunk to the floor, back resting on the other side, and silently refuse to open up. Hearing him sigh sadly, you (almost) feel bad.

You vaguely register that it’s raining outside.

“John, if you aren’t going to open up, I’ll just say what I have to say through the door,” he says. The hurt, angry part of you wants to block it all out and hate him but the sad, hopeful part of you wants to at least give him a chance. The forgiving side unfortunately wins, and you find yourself craving the explanation you had been denied for so long.

“Fuck off,” you reply weakly.

“So, uh, first of all I’m really, really sorry. Completely cutting you off was a really shitty thing to do. The rest is hard to explain I guess. Basically, I was afraid. I was afraid that I was falling too hard for you, but you, being so far away and also formerly straight would run off with some chick and live out the American dream with her all 2.5 children all named Dave or something in my honor but I’d be left in the dust choking and coughing and then eventually take my rightful place as that one uncle who spoils them, takes them for concerts and movie premiers and like, teaches them how to hotwire a car,” He says, and you know he’s rambling, that he’s just as nervous as you are.

“Get to the point,” you growl.

“Getting there. Well, that sort of scared me ‘cause I thought we wouldn’t last and then one day I decided I wanted no part in something that risky and uh, that’s why I broke up with you. Because I was in too deep and I was afraid you might not feel the same way,” he said, growing softer.

How could he think that? How could Dave possibly think that? You feel anger bubble up inside you when you realize that he made you go through the exact same thing after breaking up with you, making you ache with longing, only you knew that he didn’t want you back.

“Why didn’t you just fucking ASK?” you yelled. You stood up and opened the door to face him, and he’s standing there with his shades tucked into the front of his shirt, dripping wet, disregarding the supposed modesty of his maraschinos.

His eyes are beautiful, even when filled with apology and hurt.

You are a sap, it is you.

“I mean honestly, Dave! You could have just talked to me about it! We could have slowed down a little or something. Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, voice cracking. Your eyes filled with tears again but honestly you just didn’t care at this point.

“I made a mistake, and I want to apologize to you. I- I still love you, but if you don’t wanna get back together, or even um, be friends anymore, that’s cool. I wasn’t, like, expecting you to anyway, because this is, kind of a hard thing to uh, recover from.” He said, looking away.

“You still love me?” you asked, disbelieving.

“I. Yeah. I’m sorry, for everything,” he said.

You stare at him for who knows how long, you can’t tell if it’s a second or an hour. Should you do this again? He made a mistake, and he was apologizing for it. Should you trust him again?

This is Dave. Dave who is tragically-bad-at-sports but curiously-good-at-whistling. Dave with his ridiculous untouchable shtick that you know is a load of baloney. Dave who is your best friend. Dave who is standing here, in front of you, apologizing. Dave who is actually sorry about what he did. Dave who is sincere.

You love him, you really do.

 “I wouldn’t mind getting back together,” you respond quietly. He looks up at you, a look of disbelief on his face.

“But just. We have to talk more, okay? Don’t, cut me off like that,” you mumbled.

“Never,” he said, “Never again, anyway. Thank you, John. I am so, so fucking sorry about what I did, I swear I-”

You cut him off, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your foreheads together.

“You’re finally here.”

“…Yeah. I am.”

“I missed you so much.”

“Me too. Let’s never do that again.”

You let out a short laugh and grin at him; tension ebbing away like it wasn’t even there to begin with. Nothing was ever too soon for this guy, really.

“You’re more beautiful in person,” you say, smiling a little.

“Well duh you have the Grade A beef version of me here and not some shitty pixelated Skype window. Seriously Egbert, you shoul-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because your mouth is on his, his arms around your waist, holding you close. You don’t care that he’s soaked and pull him closer, running fingers through his wet hair, kissing him with a year’s worth of bottled up passion.

You don’t know how long it is when you pull away, but time’s his thing, not yours.

“You’re more beautiful in person too,” he said, breathless, tousled.

You grin at him, and hug him tight, happy to be in the arms of your beloved.

 ~0~

TG: i did it

TG: well he did it but same difference

GG: !!!!!

 ~0~

The both of you end up cancelling your commitments for the next week, staying holed up in John’s house, compensating for everything you’d missed out on.

Your name is Dave Strider, and you are in blissfully in love with your longtime best bro and boyfriend John Egbert.

 ~0~

Dave is really good at kissing. Like, really good. Also, he knows Nic Cage, Ben Affleck, Liv Tyler, _and_ Matthew McConaughey. He’s a star, and you are honestly a little bowled over. You’re going to go meet them next week!

But he’s also a dork, and more importantly your dork.

Your name is John Egbert, and you are blissfully in love with your longtime best bro and boyfriend Dave Strider.

 ~0~

And you never really stop, even as the years go by.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! I have several things to say!
> 
> First off. Special shoutout to my wonderful, beautiful, amazing, world of encouragement and support Meeshmess, because it is her birthday and you should totally wish her when she (inevitably) comments. 
> 
> Second off, this was, my first fic, and man, it was so fun writing this thing. I have a few other works planned, like, uh, another Johndave short, of not more than 10k. But this is my main point: It pisses me off to no end that there are only around 400 Rosemary fics on AO3 at this point in time. They're canon! And there are even fewer multichapter fics that focus on Rosemary rather than just letting it remain a sideship. 
> 
> Now obviously, I cannot remedy this entire problem all by myself. But that doesn't mean I can't contribute in some small way, right? So, coming this December, I have a Rosemary multichapter fic coming up!! It's gonna be Boarding Schoolstuck, which is one of my favorite AUs. I'm planning about 10 to 15 chapters, but then again I planned this to be a 2k at most one, maybe two shot, but here we are 3 parts and 4000 extra words later. I will try to update weekly/fortnightly, but at this point in time, no promises! Funny how these things play out :P 
> 
> Third off! I'd like to thank all of y'all for reading and sticking through this for like, two months, holy shit.


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